


The Best Accessory

by grasping4light (serenamaes)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Mafia AU, Pliroy, YOI Mafia, Yuri on Ice Mafia, otayuri - Freeform, yurabek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenamaes/pseuds/grasping4light
Summary: Yuri is bored after a night of escorting a Canadian music producer around Saint Petersburg, but things get more exciting when he meets a visiting DJ.





	1. Bubblemint Gum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaitealyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitealyn/gifts).



> Inspired by Kawaiilo-ren's wonderful Mafia AU. Please check her out on tumblr - kawaiilo-ren.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thank you for inspiring so many fans with your beautiful and fun imaginings of Yuri and Otabek!

Pop.

Whether champagne or a cherry, it made the same sound as that bubblemint gum, the one that kept the taste of cum off of his mind. 

A bubble burst and Yuri leaned back against the wall, stringing the bubble back into his mouth. This club was loud and messy, nothing like the ones he was used to visiting. But this was the scene his client, a pompous Canadian producer, wanted to visit. In all of Saint Petersburg, he wanted to visit The Den, a cheap dump in a slum back-alley, and the Russian youth scoffed at the sound of glass breaking in the distance. 

“How much longer will he be in there?” he growled quietly, flipping through his phone. It was boring waiting for him to come out of the manager’s office. He had read all of the old flyers on the wall, scribbles and phone numbers alike. There was no service inside the building, though, and he shoved his mobile back into the pocket of his thick fur coat. 

An announcer, a thin, pimpled teen took the stage to announce the next act. The crowd seemed rather excited, pushing closer to the stage, and Yuri took pleasure in the fact that the body heat and B.O. had shifted to the front of the small venue. It gave him room to breathe, and he let the coat slide away from his shoulders, exposing pale skin above his scoop neck crop top. A hickey peaked out from the leather collar at his neck, and he tilted his head to the side as a new DJ took the stage. 

“Give it up, for Otabek Altin!”

“This is him,” JJ approached with the club manager, a fat middle-aged man of about forty. Of course, neither of them paid attention to Yuri, despite the extra pop of skin. They made their way to a premium booth in the corner, opening a bottle of local vodka, where they proceeded to pass it between them. 

Yuri rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the DJ, who was still prepping his table. What was the big deal? It looked like he was late setting up. Whispers carried through the crowd, but as the lights lowered, a deep sound pulsed through the room. Resonant and intoxicating it brushed over the Russian’s skin, and he shivered with the rhythm, closing his eyes for a moment to take it in.

It made him shudder.

It was the same feeling he got in bed. A hand sliding over his thigh, between his legs to his ass cheek. A hot tongue making its way over his neck to his ear, and a piston moving inside him.

“You alright over there, Yuri?” JJ grinned, his voice louder than the music. 

“You were right,” the manager chortled over his glass. “He’s like a cat in heat.” 

“Yeah. Everything turns him on.” 

The color rose to his cheeks, and Yuri stood up straight, moving away from the table. Victor may have tasked him with escorting JJ during his stay here, but that didn’t mean he had to babysit the asshole or his new friend. So he moved forward, standing on the outskirts of the writhing crowd as that bass built and the lyrics sucked their way into the atmosphere. 

There was something different about this DJ. His fans were excited, grinding and sliding to the treble and bass, but he was distant. His dark eyes focused on the turntable, moving swiftly from one lever and button to the next. Yet his determination centered each time he closed his eyes, leaning into his headphone to adjust the melody. It was artistry, mature in comparison to the angst-driven teens who came before him. It was devised, poignant, and it made Yuri’s breath shake. Then Otabek opened his eyes, and he was looking into that vibrant green from across the room. Away from the others, Yuri’s face caught in the blue-violet light, a beacon in the dark atmosphere. 

The room was hot again, and Yuri bit his bottom lip in anticipation. 

. . . 

“Hurry.” Yuri was never this needy, this desperate. But Otabek’s hands were on his skin, deliciously hot in comparison to the cold winter air. 

“Why rush it?” His voice was deep, purring against his neck, biting at the leather collar as he moved down toward his collarbone. 

“Mmn,” Yuri moaned, panting as those hands moved lower, sliding over the fur coat to his hips. “C’mon. Hurry.” 

Otabek stopped what he was doing, straightening up. He was taller, but not by much. It was less threatening, but that earthy tone in those dark eyes still made him anxious, and Yuri purred as the man stroked his chin. “You don’t like it slow?”

“I never said that.” There was that tone again, soft. Heated. Pleading.

“Then what’s the rush?” 

Yuri didn’t want to think of what Victor would do if he knew about this. He left a client alone in a club to sneak into an alleyway with this DJ. But he didn’t care. He wanted it more than anything. He would give anything to have those lips on his skin again. “Are we doing this or not?” 

“I never said I was stopping.” Otabek’s voice was firm, and a hint of an accent slid between his lips. He pressed Yuri against the icy brick, and the boy shivered. A gasp found its way into the DJ’s mouth, followed by the Russian’s tongue. And Otabek chuckled as he pulled away, carefully taking the piece of gum from between his teeth. 

“Bubblegum?”

Yuri blushed, hoping that Otabek couldn’t taste it. He had forgotten to spit it out, distracted by that sound in the distance just a while earlier.

The taller man flicked the gum to the ground and ran his finger down Yuri’s jawline, looping it through the metal hoop on that collar. “It tastes dirty.” 

Yuri gasped as the other hand slid over his bare thigh and brave finger traced the curve of his thigh-high boots.

“I know who you are,” Otabek breathed against his ear. “I’ve heard stories about you.” Those hands were at his hips again now, fingertips brushing over the small button and zipper keeping the leather against his skin. Tugging downward. “You’re Victor’s kitten.” 

“Kitten?!” Yuri shoved him away. “You don’t fucking know me!”

“That isn’t true?” Otabek brushed his hair back, and Yuri couldn’t breathe when he looked into those dark, desire-filled eyes. “You do work for Victor Nikiforov, right?”

It was dangerous to answer that question. You could never trust anyone with that information. “I’m leaving.” Yuri shrugged his coat back up his shoulders, and zipped his shorts. “Go fuck someone else.” 

“I don’t care who you work for.” That firm grip was on his wrist, holding him still. Sincere and wanting. Yuri wasn’t going to fight it. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. And Otabek pulled him closer, sliding the fur away from his neck again. “That doesn’t change anything for me.” 

He was hard. Pressing up against his backside. Yuri could feel it through his coat, through the leather. And he shivered. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” 

God he wanted it. He wanted it so badly, but he couldn’t say it. 

“Yes or no?” Those lips were sliding over his neck now, against the back of his ear. “Tell me.” He was melting, his shoulders lowering as Otabek’s hands ran up his arms, and that tongue traced over his earlobe. 

“Yes.” Yuri shuddered in response, grinding his backside against that hard organ. “God yes.” 

“Good.” Otabek spun him around, crushing their mouths together as he pushed Yuri to the wall. The boy hit it hard, but he couldn’t think about it when those hands took his hips and lifted him. Pinning him to the wall between the ice and the heat of the DJ’s pants.

Yuri sucked on Otabek’s tongue and ran his hands into his hair. It was soft and slick, smelling of expensive gel and sandalwood. He moaned into the kiss and wrapped his legs around the taller man, rolling his hips against him as they kissed. 

“You still want to hurry?” 

The whisper was cruel, but nowhere near as cruel as the movement Otabek returned from his hips. Beautiful. Smooth. Crushing. Yuri whined and tugged hard on Otabek’s hair, breaking the kiss to breathe. “Now.” He leaned his head back, continuing to grind against his hips. “Give it to me now.” 

“Or what?” That deep voice was at his jawline again, sucking on his skin. “You’ll come?” 

The heat returned to his cheeks and he turned away from the rough mouth. “Give it to me.” He kept moving. “Please.” Did he just beg for it? And now he was slipping, being lowered to the ground. “N-no!” That whine again. “Don’t stop.”

He had never been like this. He was painfully hard, and it was torture being away from the rhythm at his waist. And then Otabek spun him around and bent him over. He kissed his neck as he worked at those tight leather shorts, and then his ass was exposed to the cold winter air. 

“Otabek.” He hissed. He was so hot it looked like he was running. Small puffs of breath clouded the space before him. He shuddered as the sound of a zipper came from behind him and cried out as the man pushed inside of him. Hot. Long. Thick, and he couldn’t help himself. “Yes!” He didn’t wait for his partner to move. He was doing the work himself, rocking his hips forward and back against it. “Oh, yes!” 

The DJ groaned at the friction, and gripped hard onto Yuri’s hips. “Shit.” It was sucking him in, taking over his senses. Such a tight, fresh heat. And the noises the kitten made before him . . . Soon he was bucking into the movement of his hips, and furrowing his eyebrows as that heat tightened around him. 

Yuri held himself up against the wall, bodily shaking with the force of Otabek’s thrusts. He could almost taste the brick. It wouldn’t be long before he came. He could feel that tension building in his abdomen, though it had never built so quickly. “Mmnnn…” He bit his lip and closed his eyes. Inside JJ would be looking for him, and he hoped that the asshole could see this. This was what sex was supposed to be. At least, that’s what he thought. This was the first time it had ever felt like this. It was all he could think about: Otabek was inside of him, tearing him apart, and it was perfect. He was perfect.

Otabek took hold of Yuri’s hair, pulling on the silky blonde strands, and Yuri arched his back into the tension, furrowing his eyebrows as he moaned, straightening up as the DJ pounded into him. Deeper. Harder. Faster. 

“Oh,” he whimpered, his voice lifting as he ran his hands up his neck toward his face. His eyes were watering at the delicious friction, and his breathing was shallow. “O-oh- I-I” 

“Not yet.” Otabek took hold of the kitten’s arousal, squeezing the head. “A little longer.” 

Yuri grabbed onto his arm and scratched. “Nnn. Let me . . .” that was _his_ signature move. He wasn’t supposed to be interrupted. Not now. He was so close. 

Otabek hissed and bit at the cat’s neck, bucking harder into him. He was losing that careful rhythm he had constructed. “I said not yet.” 

Yuri couldn’t breathe. It felt like he was going to explode as that organ beat into his body, overpowering his senses as his knees began to shake. “Please, Daddy.”

Otabek liked that, and he let go of his partner, ramming into him at his own release. Yuri whimpered as he came, digging his nails into his partners forearm, shaking as he rode the waves of his release. Cum steamed against the brick wall, and Otabek held the Russian steady in his heels, letting him catch his breath.

The door opened to the alley, and Yuri lifted his heavy head to glance over. JJ stood just outside, wearing a stern expression. “Yuri.” He beckoned. “Get your ass back inside.” He began to move back into the building. “Don’t forget who you work for.”

“Yuri.” Otabek spoke quietly as the smaller man wriggled out of his grasp, pulling up his leather bottoms once more. 

Already, Yuri could feel the semen seeping out, settling against the leather. He frowned and pulled his jacket up over his shoulders, making his way toward the door. He stopped and looked back at the DJ, who was zipping his pants and fixing his hair. 

“The first one’s free.” He flipped his hair and opened the door. “Don’t forget it.” 

“I won’t.” Otabek smiled softly, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, watching as the blonde disappeared into the building once more. He wouldn’t let it be the last time, whether Yuri knew that or not.


	2. Baltika No. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri is punished for sleeping around on the job with a Kazakh DJ while he wass supposed to be paying special attention to JJ, a visiting music producer from Canada. Will he continue to repeat his mistake when Otabek comes back to town?

“Yuri, I expected a bit more from you. It’s not like you’ve been on the job that long.” Victor commented as he crossed his legs in his chair, watching from across the room. “You’re the youngest in the group by far, and to hear you’re already sneaking off on the clock is a bit disappointing, to say the least.” 

It was difficult to say anything or defend himself in this position, suspended by his wrists from the ceiling, with a ball gag in his mouth, but Yuri dug his nails into his palms and glared at his boss from across the room.

“Was he worth it?” 

A crack of the whip, and Yuri winced, biting into the gag. A strand of drool strung from the corner of his mouth. It was so embarrassing, and he was certain he was bleeding, already feeling the hot-cool sting running in the same direction of the burn. 

“Victor,” Yuuri asked, setting down a hot cup of tea. “Don’t you think this is enough?”

“Yeah,” Chris purred, stroking the whip between his fingers. “It’s been three hours already, and my hands are starting to callus.” 

Victor furrowed his eyebrows as he lifted the tea, taking a sip and a moment to think before he answered. “I guess I can’t scar him too badly,” he admitted. “He is the _prima_ after all, and I can’t get a reputation for selling damaged goods.” 

Yuri growled at that comment, which earned him another sting on his backside. 

The teacup clinked against its saucer as Victor returned it to the desk. “JJ,” he turned toward their visitor, who watched eagerly from across the room, lounging on the imported leather couch. “Are you satisfied that he’s learned his lesson?” 

“Not yet,” the Canadian answered, shifting his weight as he reached for his drink. “I think I should have a go at him, before we call it quits.” He looked toward Yuri and the boy met his gaze from the side of his eye. 

Victor understood the look and gave Chris a singular nod, and the man stepped away from his post. “Good luck, Yuri,” he laughed as he set down the whip. “I don’t think he’ll be as nice as I was.” He gave the Canadian a wink as he left the room, Victor and Yuuri following shortly after. 

He waited until the door thudded to a close. “So, Yuri,” JJ fingered the whip as he walked past it, toward the corner of the room where his prize hung, ready and waiting. “You never told them if he was worth it.” 

The Russian rolled his eyes, and flinched as JJ ran a hand up his bare stomach. “They could have done so much more to you.” He whispered, stroking a vibrator up the inside of one of those pale, bruised thighs. “I’m a bit sad they didn’t even use this.” 

It vibrated against his balls, and Yuri shuddered, biting into the ball gag again. A muffled “Nnnf” came from his throat, and he tugged at the ropes and cuffs holding him in place. His cock twitched in response to the buzzing and a flush spread over his cheeks. The whip did nothing for him, honestly, but his body always reacted to this. No matter who was holding it to his body.

“You don’t like that?” JJ’s voice was soft, following the direction of his lips as they ran over Yuri’s shoulder and the back of his neck. “You usually seem so into these things.” The toy was nudged against his backside now, pressing against his entry. “Do you want me to get some lube?” 

Yuri nodded, but JJ pressed it inside anyway, smirking against his nape with an “Oops . . . I slipped.” 

And Yuri groaned as it thrust inside of him meticulously, following the rhythm of the hand wrapped around his cock. He rolled his head to the side and dug his nails further into his palms, feeling that familiar sting once more. 

“That’s a good boy,” JJ purred, sucking on his skin. “I knew you would apologize to me sooner or later.” 

A small ribbon of blood trailed down his palm to his wrist. Yuri’s body shook as the motion continued, and his back arched as his release shot into JJ’s grip. He bit hard against the sturdy rubber and his jaw ached from the force, and he whimpered as the toy was removed, inhaling deeply before JJ replaced it with something larger. Hard. Hot. And pulsing. 

“Now let me show you what you mean to me.” 

. . . 

“Yurochka,” a strong voice from a strong man. “You know you shouldn’t play in here.” Nikolai smiled at his grandson. “I’m in the middle of a meeting.” 

The nanny came in and scooped him up, lifting him away from the group of men sitting at the table. “But grandpa,” he whined. “I want to show you something!” 

“Let him down, Lilia,” the old man waved, and the young woman set the blonde toddler back on the floor. 

“Look!” Yuri leaped, dancing across the room. “Lilia taught me some ballet!” He twirled and lost balance, landing on his bottom. 

The other men in the room laughed, but Nikolai smiled softly as he made his way to the boy, who was tearing up from embarrassment. “Yurochka, that was wonderful.” He ruffled his hair and scooped him up before making their way to the door. “Perhaps Lilia can teach you a bit more, and you can put on another show for my friends later, hmm?” 

“O-okay,” Yuri sniffled as he was transferred to the arms of his nanny. Then he was carried out of the room, while he watched the large wooden door shut behind them. 

But that was so long ago, and he couldn’t remember the last time he danced outside of a club or someone’s bedroom. On a pole. Faking a smile for men his grandfather’s age, or some young studs who thought they were made men because they inherited some money. 

It had been even longer since he had spoken to his grandfather. Not that he expected that to change. The great Nikolai Plisetsky was dead, and so too was his era of rule in Russia. Yuri was entrusted to Victor Nikiforov’s care shortly before it happened, before Nikolai went missing. His grandfather told him that he would be a “safe” connection. Someone that would look after him, and keep him away from this lifestyle. 

But Yuri’s heart shattered the day he stood and listened outside of Victor’s office. Shushed voices inside discussed Nikolai’s death and what they would do with the body. Where he would be buried, if that was even possible. Yuri burst into the room, screaming, accusing the older Russian of deceiving him before he collapsed in tears on the floor. 

And the next few months were a fucking blur.

“Yuri,” Lilia spoke from behind him. “Stop flinching. You’ll be no use to anyone if these scar.” Yuri winced and held still, gripping on to the vanity as the woman stroked antiseptic over his cuts. “Your skin looks dry. Have you been moisturizing?” He was relieved as she covered the wounds with thick gel and heard the soft sound of fabric against skin as she wiped her hands. 

Their eyes met in the mirror, just briefly. “Yes,” Yuri sighed, but Lilia didn’t believe it. She reached for the night cream.

“Turn to me.” She demanded, and Yuri obeyed. She delicately dabbed it onto his face, carefully, avoiding his eyes. “We can’t have you looking like this.”

Nikolai had tried hard, _incredibly hard_ , to keep Yuri sheltered from this life. Even still, that didn’t prevent the boy from knowing about the meetings, the secretive financial exchanges, and the blood stains before the dry cleaning and purchase of new suits. But his grandfather made him stay in school, encouraged him to work hard and continue his dancing, and most importantly, he kept Yuri away from the hands of the mob from all sides. Though they shared a last name, his precious grandson would not repeat the cycle. Not after what happened to his daughter.

Yuri hardly remembered his mother. What he did remember were the brief, manic episodes before her death. Everyone referred to her as _the whore_ , even after all of these years, and Nikolai looked remorseful when he spoke of her. She was tragic in every way, a beautiful woman, smart with never-ending potential, who got involved with the wrong men at an early age, craving attention and success as a rising television star, which led to the infection and ultimately her demise. 

But all of that made Nikolai’s bond with Yuri stronger, pure, and he treated the boy as if he were his own son, all to make sure that the same thing wouldn’t happen to him.

The irony of his grandson’s situation now would have killed him if the bullets hadn’t. 

Yuri’s first client was Nikolai’s best friend, and he still felt sick when he thought about it. 

But Victor was right – what else was he going to do? What was he going to do outside of the mob? Invested or not, it was already the life he had been living. It wasn’t as if his life had been normal at any point, and attempting to exit immediately after Nikolai’s death, especially at such a young age, was suicide. And Victor could see the potential in those rage-filled eyes: Yuri had everything he needed to survive. Especially if he could put the boy to good use. 

Lilia offered to mentor him. To teach him the ways of beauty and deception, utilizing the boy’s effeminate features and slender frame to his advantage. He was the perfect trophy for anyone in the entertainment industry. Pale, blonde and petit, with bright eyes and a fire burning beneath his skin. He was everything that men wanted, and the toy that they would pay to get. 

It was something he had come to terms with, though it left him feeling incredibly unsettled. And he knew it was the reason he couldn’t sleep.

Still, he couldn’t let it interfere with his job, and he closed his eyes as JJ pulled him closer, breathing hard after their second round.

“Yuri,” the man breathed, placing soft kisses on his neck. “I hope you aren’t too upset with me for earlier.” 

“Never, Daddy,” Yuri meowed obediently, tracing patterns on the arm wrapped around his chest. “I was wrong for sneaking away from you.” He looked toward the wall. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Good,” JJ smiled, pulling him even closer. “I don’t like punishing you.” 

And Yuri listened as the breathing behind him slowed and relaxed into a steady rhythm, and that strong arm grew heavy with sleep. When he was certain he wouldn’t wake him, he slithered out from beneath JJ’s grasp and made his way to the bathroom. He didn’t like sleeping in the bed with strangers, but it was always a little easier after a shower, when he was clean. 

The water stung over the cuts on his back, and he grimaced at the pink water washing over his feet. Chris had been careful not to cut too deep, but that didn’t change anything – it still hurt like a bitch, and he’d feel it for at least a week. As he got out of the shower stall, he looked over his shoulder at the red lines striping down his back. “Victor will be pissed if these scar.” 

He slid into a robe and winced as he reclined back onto the bed, away from his sleeping patron, and counted the spots on the ceiling as he tried to fall asleep. 

. . . 

Finally, a club he was familiar with.

Yuri lounged against the white leather, happy and buzzed from the free drinks and pleasant company. In this state, he could actually tolerate JJ. The asshole could be pretty funny and charming when he wanted to be, and despite all of his narcissism, he was actually a pretty good businessman. 

“Alright, Yuri,” JJ laughed, wrapping his arm around his trophy. “Don’t go sneaking off after this next set, okay?” He whispered firmly against the Russian’s ear. “I’m going to go try and seal a deal. And I expect you to be here when I get back.” 

Yuri tugged on JJ’s collar, pulling him closer to nip at his bottom lip for reassurance. “I’ll stay here. Now go get him, Daddy.” 

“Good,” JJ slid out of the booth. “I don’t want a repeat of last time.” 

Last time? Yuri blinked, flicking the straw of his drink once JJ’s back was turned. “Asshole,” He growled, looking toward the stage. They were setting up for the next set, and he slinked lower against the leather. “No one’s even there.” 

The background music thudded a bit longer, obnoxious and raving, and Yuri ran his hands through his hair. “I should slow down,” he groaned. “I’m getting dizzy . . .” The melody and bass were on the same Eurobeat loop, and it made his stomach churn.

But without an introduction, the beat transcended into heavy bass. And that familiar, heated sound pulsed through the room, over his skin and into his bloodstream, and he moaned at the memory. Those hands on his waist and fingertips digging into his skin in a cold back alleyway, and he sat up to look across the room.

Otabek was there, focused as ever, keeping his eyes on the turn-table instead of looking into the crowd. And Yuri couldn’t help himself. 

He stood and leaned against the balcony, looking down on the performance. The crowd moved in a frenzy, obsessed with the rhythm of music, and Yuri’s hips began to sway subconsciously. His eyelids lowered and he bit his bottom lip as he watched the DJ’s hands move skillfully over the switchboard. 

He would give anything to be beneath those fingertips again.

JJ was standing off to the side of the stage, watching Otabek perform. Between the strobing lights, Yuri could see that he was talking to someone, perhaps an agent or talent manager. With JJ that close, there was no way he could make it down to the front of the crowd without being seen, and there was no way to get Otabek’s attention with him looking down.

Yuri pouted and flipped his hair over his shoulder before he made his way back to the table, thinking about his options. In all honesty, he didn’t give a fuck about what JJ thought of him leaving again, but his back was still healing from the whip a few days earlier, and the night was young. There might be a way to talk to Otabek later if he played his cards right. 

Fuck it. 

It wasn’t like him to wait for an opportunity. He grabbed the premium bottle of vodka from the table and walked over to the balcony. With a smooth motion of his hand, he dropped it onto the clean space of floor beneath him. The glass shattered, and the crowd screamed and jumped, turning their attention to the commotion.

And it worked like a charm. 

Otabek looked up from the table, toward the crowd at first, and then upward. Those dark eyes focused on the balcony, and Yuri shrugged with a smirk. A hint of a smile tugged at the DJ’s lips, and JJ glanced back toward his box as the cleaning crew worked to clear the area. Yuri smiled at his client and blew him a kiss, and the Canadian winked in his direction.

“What an idiot,” Yuri laughed, turning his attention back to Otabek after JJ turned back around. He ran his hands into his hair and closed his eyes, moving to the melody. When he opened them, he realized, Otabek had yet to take his eyes off of him. Yuri called the man to him with a finger. 

“Come and get me, Daddy.”

JJ never even noticed when the Kazakh made his way up to his target. He was still out doing god-knows what, and Yuri was too busy scrolling through his phone to see him approach.

“Are you a groupie now?” Otabek purred, making his way past the guards to the table. 

Yuri looked up at him through thick eyelashes and grinned. “Don’t throw me in with those cheap whores.” 

“I never would.” Otabek leaned over the table, the lights casting pink and blue shadows over his dark features. “Though you did say the first time was free.” 

“Seriously.” He wasn’t offended, but he put on the best appalled expression he could. Scoffing, “Do you even know who I am?” 

“Yuri,” Otabek leaned closer, lifting his chin with his finger. “The temperamental kitten.”

Yuri purred and gripped on to his hand, gliding his mouth over those skilled fingers. “Daddy . . .” 

Otabek’s watched with eyes of steel, as if he were memorizing the sight before him. “When does he get back?” 

“When does who get back?” 

“The Producer.” Otabek answered, pressing gently against that supple bottom lip. 

Yuri thought for a moment, distracted by that sensation and the vodka fog. “I don’t know. I think he’s off trying to buy you or some shit.” 

Otabek shuddered as a pink tongue ran over his fingertips and playful teeth grazed his skin. “You know the Aquamarine Hotel?” Yuri nodded, relishing the feeling of Otabek’s hand as it slid over his cheek into his hair. “Meet me there.” 

“Now?” Yuri grinned. “He’ll notice if I leave.”

“It didn’t stop you before.” Otabek responded bluntly. 

“It didn’t, did it?” Yuri agreed, reaching out and running a hand up the DJ’s shirt. 

“So you’ll meet me?” 

“You’re not going to stand me up, are you?” The Russian mused, gripping at the firm muscle that lied beneath. Otabek was hot and a little sweaty from his time on stage, but it only made Yuri want to feel him, skin to skin. He bit his bottom lip thinking about it. “I don’t like being led on.”

“Never.”

“Good,” Yuri smirked, sitting halfway up from the booth, leaning on the table. “I’ll come visit you later.” 

Otabek pulled him closer and brushed their lips together to whisper. “I’m counting on it.” 

. . .

This was fucking stupid. Ridiculous. 

But god, did it feel right sneaking out from under JJ and calling a cab.

Yuri blamed it on the vodka. On the blur of hasty sex once he and JJ got back to the flat, and he stumbled into the taxi. The street lights were blinking, dizzy in the buzzed haze, and he laughed: He was really making his way across town to go fuck some DJ. 

Oh, Victor wouldn’t like that. 

Too bad. 

He just had to make sure he never found out. 

He fiddled with his shorts as the cab approached the hotel. They didn’t feel right. Too restrictive. Too close. Suffocating. And he waved at the driver as the man left him on the curb. It was nearly four in the morning, and he was making his way into the damn Aquamarine Hotel. 

“Hey.” He barked at the receptionist. “I need the room for Otabek.” 

“I’ll need you to be more specific . . . Sir.” The Cashier had to think about it, look the effeminate Russian over for a moment. 

“Otabek Al-” Fuck. He was too drunk to remember. “Otabek. The DJ.” Yuri argued. 

The receptionist looked annoyed. “Sir, perhaps you should come back later, after you’ve had a chance to clear your head.” 

“Clear my head?” Yuri growled, slamming his hands onto the desk. “There can’t be that many fucking DJs staying in your hotel. Find him!”

“I think you should leave.” 

“Fuck you.” He was yelling now. “I came here to meet-“ 

“He’s here for me.” A voice came from behind. “Sorry about the trouble.” 

Yuri looked over his shoulder at Otabek, and the man tossed some money onto the counter as he pulled the Russian away. “Sorry about the scene.” 

“I wasn’t making a scene.” Yuri protested loudly, stomping away.

Otabek said nothing, but gripped the escort’s hand a bit tighter as they made their way to the elevator. Once the door closed, he pressed Yuri against the control panel and kissed him hard. Yuri still had less control over his legs than he had hoped, and he lost balance from the kiss, stumbling back-to-side, against the door. 

“Dammit,” Otabek groaned, catching him before he could fall. “How much have you had to drink?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuri smiled, wrapping his arms around Otabek’s neck. “I’m still good at what I do.” 

Otabek furrowed his eyebrows and helped the boy straighten up. “Maybe, but it’ll be no fun for me if you’re falling all over the place.” 

“Just set me on my back,” Yuri mewed, running his hands through that dark hair. “I’m really flexible. You won’t even notice.” 

Otabek smirked as the door opened, and he tugged the boy toward his room. “We’ll decide that later. First, I’m getting you some water.” 

“Ugh. You’re no fun.” 

The DJ unlocked his room, and the Russian immediately made his way to the bed. “Yuri,” Otabek’s voice was stern as he opened the mini-fridge. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I’m dizzy,” he admitted as he kicked off his boots and reclined on the bedspread. “But I’m not going to let that stop me.” He ran his hands down the front of his chest, lower, sliding over the zipper of his shorts. Further, between his legs. “I came here for a reason.”

“Sit up.” Otabek demanded, looking down at him from beside the bed.

“C’mon, Beka,” Yuri grinned, sliding a long leg up the side of Otabek’s body. “You can do what you want with me.” 

“Not like this. Now sit up.” He extended a hand, and the Russian looked perplexed. 

“Daddy?” that slender foot made its way over his chest now, before sliding lower, toward his jeans. “Don’t you want me anymore?”

“No.” 

And Yuri’s eyes widened. “You . . .” He kicked Otabek away and sat up. The room spun from the movement, but he growled. “You asshole! I came all the way across-”

“Yuri.” Otabek grabbed his wrist, forcing his attention. He was the only still thing in the room, and the boy stopped and looked up into those dark eyes. “Not like this. Now drink.” He thrust the bottle of water in his direction, and Yuri pulled his hand back into his own space, drinking unhappily like a punished child. 

“Thank you.” Otabek sighed, making his way back to the fridge. He pulled out a beer for himself, a Baltika No. 3, and cracked the top off using the counter for leverage.

The Russian watched for a moment, staring at the label. “My grandfather used to drink those.” 

Otabek raised an eyebrow mid-swig and looked toward the bed. “Your grandfather?” 

“Yeah.” Yuri screwed the cap back on the water bottle. “It was his favorite.” 

“He has good taste then,” Otabek observed with a grin, sitting in a chair, across from the bed so he could observe. And more importantly, make Yuri drink something other than booze.

“Yeah, and so does most of Russia.” Yuri retorted. “It’s not like it’s hard to find here.” Still, it was bittersweet as he reminisced. “I miss him.” And then he realized what he was saying, that he was opening up to a near stranger. “I must be drunk. I don’t usually talk about him.” He unscrewed the water again and took a large drink. 

“I don’t mind.” 

“Me being drunk? Yes, you do,” Yuri hissed. “You don’t want to sleep with me.” 

“I do, and I wasn’t talking about that.” His voice was direct, but not harsh. “I don’t mind you talking about your grandfather.” 

“I don’t even fucking know you, really. You don’t get to hear my life story.” 

“I’m not making you tell it.” Otabek countered.

Yuri groaned. “God, you’re difficult! Just fuck me already and get it over with!”

“Get it over with?” Otabek asked, and Yuri could hear the glass come down on the table. “Was I that bad?” 

Yuri blushed remembering their encounter before. “That isn’t what I meant.” 

“Then what did you mean?” There was a weight in the bed, depressing the space at his sides. Otabek was crawling over him, looking him in the eyes. 

“I don’t know.” 

“If I wasn’t bad, but you want to get it over with, what does that mean?” 

“Isn’t that how sex works?” Yuri asked bluntly. “You meet up, you fuck, and then it’s over. Done. You leave.” 

“Yuri,” that voice was soft. Soothing. Almost pitying. It was like it wanted to prove him wrong. 

“You didn’t say _no_.” Yuri looked to the side, avoiding Otabek’s gaze. He felt like those eyes could see through him, read his thoughts. And now more than ever, he didn’t want to be a prostitute. An escort. Whatever name you wanted to call it, it was embarrassing. “And it’s not like I’m new to this kind of thing.” 

“Yuri.” Otabek started again, running a hand over his cheek. “Is that what you think sex is: fucking and getting it over with?”

“That’s what it was the first time we met, right?” 

“I’m sorry I gave you that impression.” 

Was he serious? 

Yuri’s breath caught in his chest, and he looked back up into those brown-green eyes. That hand made its way into his hair. “I really must be drunk.” He chuckled. “How could I not get that impression?” 

“Admittedly, things were a little hasty.” 

“I barely even knew your name.” 

“Yuri.” Otabek looked away.

“We hadn’t even known each other five minutes.” 

“Yuri.”

“We fucking did it in a back alley!”

And Otabek kissed him, a flush spreading over his cheeks as he swooped in to capture that argumentative mouth with his own. Yuri closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his neck, and the DJ framed his cheek with his hand. 

“Beka . . .” Yuri breathed against his lips. “I really must be drunk.” His heart was racing. He knew the buzz was wearing off, and he felt like he was seeing a little more clearly. The haze of the alcohol weakening at the hands of this man. 

“Beka?” The DJ asked, speaking in between kisses. First on the lips, then the forehead. “Is that my name now?” The cheek. 

The neck. 

“Mmm . . .” Yuri exhaled, “Don’t get used to it. I’ll forget it in the morning.”

“It’s already morning.” The DJ answered, running his hand down the side of Yuri’s ribs. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“You’re drunk?” He chuckled, nipping at his earlobe. 

“Y-yeah,” Yuri giggled, though he wasn’t drunk at all. Not anymore.

“Then I’ll be careful with you this time.” 

“But-” the Russian began.

Otabek sat up and looked him in the eyes. “Let me show you what sex is supposed to be like.” 

And Yuri was mesmerized as he removed his shirt. He couldn’t say _no_ , and his hands ran over that tattooed chest. Otabek made him feel more sober than he had ever been in his life, that heavy disoriented feeling replaced by life and excitement, and his heart raced as he contemplated what, exactly, he meant. 

Wasn’t sex just _sex_? 

The DJ ran a hand over one of the boy’s, catching it with his own, and he pulled Yuri’s fingers to his lips. Yuri’s eyes fluttered closed as those lips brushed against his fingertips, slow and smooth. Taking their time. But he opened them again to meet Otabek’s stare, heated and steady, and his breath caught in his chest. 

This reminded him of what he said when they first met in the alley, how he teased him about not wanting to take it slow. But now . . . 

Otabek trailed kisses over the back of his hand, over his palm, his wrist, nipping his way back to Yuri’s fingers, biting at the rings. 

Yuri bit his bottom lip as he watched, whimpering at the tension holding him in his shorts. His lips parted to speak, but he was too busy watching as the DJ’s hands moved over his body to remember the words. Watching as those marked hands released his own to run over his stomach, when Otabek’s thumbs briefly grazed beneath the hem of his shirt, and Yuri shuddered at the touch. The Russian ran a hand into his hair and the other tugged on the waist of Otabek’s jeans. “Please . . .” he panted. 

But Otabek ignored the whining, the pleading, verbally at least. Instead, he worked his way back to that mouth, brushing his lips over Yuri’s, teasingly slow. Though he never let them linger for too long. The boy responded in kind, tugging playfully on the DJ’s bottom lip when it passed, all while scratching his nails lightly over the sides of his ribs, his chest, until he tangled himself around his neck, with fingers locked in that dark, wavy hair. 

Kissing someone had always been strange to Yuri, something he had practiced over and over, usually with men over three times his age. It was just another piece of the act, the perfect con, but when Otabek’s tongue slid over his own, a shiver raced down his spine. Each ghost of their lips over one another fed his body with intense electricity, and he shuddered as the feeling amplified. He gripped on to Otabek with his thighs, and the Kazakh ran his hand down the back of Yuri’s leg.

“Yuri,” Otabek purred against his ear, tracing patterns with his breath and the vibration of his voice. Husky. Deep.

“Don’t stop,” Yuri whined, digging his nails in to those strong shoulders, giving him another squeeze with his legs. “Please.” 

“Stop what?” Another tease, those fingertips running back up his thigh, each one taking its time to sink in to toned, pale flesh.

They weren’t even rocking, grinding, moving, and already Yuri was uncomfortably hard beneath his denim bottoms. He could feel the heat from Otabek’s pants, despite being clothed, and it was teasing him, pressing against his lower body. He arched his back at the thought. “I want more.” 

“Tell me,” Otabek looked into his eyes, running a hand through those golden strands again, whispering. “What is it?” Desire tugged at every piece of his rugged expression.

Yuri couldn’t remember how to speak, instead, he pulled Otabek to him again, licking his way in to that hot mouth once more, and the man returned his kiss hungrily. His hands ran under the boy’s shirt, over the nipple piercings, and settled at his waist. 

The Russian moaned into the kiss as the man broke away, sucking hard at his jawline and neck. “Beka,” He gasped, digging his nails in even further. That throb was there beneath his waist. “Oh, Beka . . .” He tipped his head back. “More . . .”

Otabek rolled his hips once, hard into a suck, and Yuri cried out. He squeezed hard with his thighs as he came, and quickly after covered his mouth with his hand. The Kazakh observed Yuri, flustered and aroused beneath him, and Yuri’s breath shook as his pleasure settled.

That had never happened before. Never without penetration. Thrusting. Skin on skin. 

Otabek smiled in satisfaction and buried his face in the Russian’s neck again, marking his prize, and Yuri rolled his head to the side. “Beka . . . “ 

“You told me you wanted more.” 

Yuri exhaled audibly and slid his hands down to the man’s sides, lowering his legs so he could tug on the man’s belt loops. “Then what are you waiting for?” Their eyes met as he continued. “Keep going.” 

Otabek chuckled as he sat up and gently removed the Russian’s hands from his waist. “I think you’re still a little drunk. You think I was actually going to stop?” 

“What?” Yuri blinked. He had teased, but he wasn’t sure if he had actually been serious. Even JJ wasn’t this ambitious, and he was the youngest of his clients.

“Yuri,” slowly, Otabek lifted the boy carefully, pulling his top off over his head. Yuri ran his hands over that toned body before him and looked up into Otabek’s eyes as he reached behind his neck. And the escort’s eyes widened as that collar came away from his skin. 

The Kazakh ran a hand over his cheek. “Do you see now?” 

He tossed the collar to the side and eased his lover back to the bed. This time, more eager with his movements. Yuri arched his back as that tongue ran over his nipple piercing and moved lower. Teeth teasing at the button and zipper of his jeans. 

“Beka,” Yuri blushed. “Slow or fast,” he gripped at the sheets and rolled his head to the side. “Make up your mind.” 

“Never,” He breathed against his thigh, working off the shorts, happy that no other fabric was beneath them. “You’re on my time now.” 

Yuri gasped as those lips marked him, taking their time when tracing over his skin and studying his body. He braved a glance between his legs, watching as Otabek observed him. Patient, ready, wanting.

Serious. 

Yuri tiptoed over the man’s chest, and Otabek caught his foot in his hand, returning an equally playful bite on his ankle. “Beka,” he teased. “How are you holding back?” 

He didn’t answer. He placed soft kisses over the arch of that slender foot before he eased his lover’s legs back on the bed, standing for a moment to remove his own clothes. 

And Yuri swallowed thickly at the body before him. Slender, fit, and perfectly framed with patches and patterns of black ink. Everything about him was edgy and focused, honed by hard work and mystery. He gasped as the man bent him over, holding onto the soft space behind his knees before dipping his tongue inside Yuri’s tight entry. 

“Beka! No!” He gasped, reaching for his hair again, trying to pull him away. None of his clients, no one dared do this, not with the frequent use. It was dirty, used. And the color spread on his cheeks. “Don’t!”

Otabek bit at his backside. “Why not?” He smirked. “No one’s ever done this?” And that hot tongue made its way inside again, and Yuri whimpered, biting his bottom lip. The heat . . . Slick and soft . . . 

Yuri gasped and chose not to answer. It was evident in the way he was breathing anyway, and he knew that his partner understood by the way he continued. Soft. Direct. And fucking thorough. 

Soon he was gripping onto Beka’s hair as he came again, and Otabek breathed heavily as he sat up. This time, he was unable to hold back after looking over the body beneath him. He positioned Yuri’s hips and sheathed himself to the hilt, and Yuri cried out as that heavy rhythm began. Thrusting into his body, pushing him harder against the bed. 

“Beka,” He moaned, reaching up for him. And Otabek obliged, leaning forward, relishing the grip of those thighs on his ribs and those nails scratching down his back. Their tongues met again, in time with the thrusts until neither of them could keep rhythm, their stomachs and chest slick with sweat and cum, and Yuri made Otabek bleed. 

“Shit! Beka,” He couldn’t breathe as that feeling returned beneath his waist. Never had it happened this frequently, this intensely, and he pulled hard on that dark hair as he came. 

“Yuri,” the DJ groaned, grinding into his own ecstasy as Yuri shook beneath him, his breath catching in his chest. 

The Russian held on as Otabek came to rest on top of him, their heartbeats pounding in time with one another, and the ebb and flow of pleasure thudded beneath their waists. He toyed with a strand of that black hair, and closed his eyes. “Beka?” he asked. 

“Yeah?”

“You’ll wake me up if I fall asleep, right?” Yuri yawned quietly. 

Otabek lifted his head and looked down at his partner. “Sure, but why can’t you sleep in?”

“I left that asshole in the bed,” Yuri growled, cracking an eye open to glance at the light streaming in from the window. “Ugh. It’s too fucking early.” 

“Get some sleep, Yura,” Otabek replied, ruffling that blonde hair. “I’ll wake you up.” 

Yuri was glad that Otabek couldn’t see him beneath the mess of hair. He could feel the color rising to his face. “I need enough time to get back before noon.” No one had ever called him that. But it was so close to his favorite memory of all. 

“ _Yurochka_ ” that voice called over the lip of his beer bottle.

And he smiled as he closed his eyes, and told himself it was okay to nuzzle against Otabek’s warmth. If anyone asked, he would say he was still drunk.


	3. Sandalwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is different than anything Yuri Plisetsky has ever dealt with as an escort - _feeling_. And he is not sure how long it will take before someone puts an end to this new, taboo romance. But JJ works to make sure his escort stays on his leash, especially when he is the one footing the bill. But if you have ever tried to walk a cat, you understand that kittens have a mind of their own.

Fuck. He overslept. 

Yuri pushed Otabek onto his back, away from him while he fought with the sheets. He couldn’t get out fast enough. Light was flooding the room through the cracked curtains, and it was far too bright outside. 

“What time is it?” Yuri managed to stand. He couldn’t find his shorts or shirt. “Dammit!” 

“Yuri,” Otabek groaned, sitting up in the bed, glancing toward the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. “It’s only 10:30.”

“Only?!” Yuri exclaimed, picking up his shorts from the floor. How did they get under the table? “JJ’s apartment is all the way across town. It’s going to take forever to get there.” He reached for his shirt. “He’s probably awake by now.”

“I’ll give you a ride.” Otabek brushed the bangs out of his face and flipped back the blankets.

“You can’t give me a ride. Someone will see you.” 

“Yuri.” That firm voice was there again as Otabek stood, making his way toward the small Russian. “Let’s clean up first,” he bent over and grabbed his jeans. “I’ll get you back in time.” 

A flush spread over Yuri’s cheeks as he looked the man over. His body was just as perfectly sculpted now as he remembered it a few hours earlier, and it bothered him that it wasn’t just beautiful through beer goggles. “Fine,” he relented, “But make it quick.” He tromped his way to the bathroom, muttering, “I hope the asshole is still sleeping.” 

Despite all of his complaining, it was nice to shower and rinse off the sin from the night before. And it was even better with Otabek standing behind him. Though he couldn’t see his face, the escort relaxed at the thought of this stranger bathing with him, attentive and protective. And he gasped as Otabek placed hot kisses on his neck and shoulders. 

But Otabek stopped when he noticed the long stripes that streaked across those pale shoulder blades, still red from novelty, haloed in the bruise-blue hue. “Yuri?” He asked, ghosting his finger beside one of the longer ones, trailing from his shoulder blade to his waist. “What are these?” 

Yuri winced, but not because the wound stung. Otabek’s next question caught in the Russian’s chest. 

“Does he hit you?” 

“What?” Yuri looked over his shoulder. “No.” He glanced back at the shower head, closing his eyes. “No, he doesn’t, but . . .” he was at a loss for words, not sure how to continue. It was a weird thing to ask, especially when Otabek knew his profession. “Would it matter if he did? You’d be surprised with some of the shit people are into.” 

Otabek didn’t think this was some kink, not with the way the boy avoided the question. “Is he trying to break you in?” 

“No.” he was getting annoyed. “It’s not like he abuses me,” he turned and looked at the concerned Kazakh. “That’s just what happens when they try to teach me a lesson.” He knew Otabek would understand who _they_ were; he didn’t have to name names. 

“There’s a difference?” 

He was so damn serious, and his eyes were too intense. Yuri’s lips parted as Otabek slid his hands over his chest, lathering him in sandalwood scented bubbles. “Whether you broke the rules or not, there are other ways to handle these types of things.” He stated simply, turning the boy around to rinse.

How did he know he had broken the rules?

Otabek offered Yuri the shower gel. “Yuri?” 

So he focused again, returning the favor, taking his time as he ran his hands over that toned, tan skin. Tracing the rough tattoo ink with his fingertips.

. . . 

Yuri wasn’t sure how he did it, but JJ was still asleep when he made it to the flat. “Thank god,” he mouthed, unzipping his boots quietly, carrying them while tip-toeing back to the bedroom. He couldn’t get back in the bed just yet. Not while he smelled like Otabek. But there was nothing more than he wanted than to keep the smell of the DJ on him a bit longer. It had seeped into his clothes, his hair, and his skin. 

They smelled so good together. 

He was quick, hopping in the shower to lather himself in JJ’s soap, and he yawned as he made his way back to the bed. He climbed in carefully and snuggled into the pillows. Though he didn’t feel like sleeping, he was glad to see that JJ hadn’t moved. It made it easier to relax as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, preparing himself for more sleep.

“Where have you been, princess?” JJ asked quietly, stretching as he opened his eyes. “Did you get up in the middle of the night?” He pulled Yuri toward him and held him close. 

Yuri rolled his eyes against JJ’s chest. “You know I can’t sleep without showering after sex.” 

“Yeah, and it’s fucking weird.” JJ chuckled. “You’d think that with what you do, you could sleep anywhere after a few rounds in bed.” 

He would ignore that for now. “You’re _so_ funny.”

“Seriously though,” JJ asked, pulling him in tighter. “You had to take two showers?”

Yuri’s eyes widened. 

“Was it that good that you had to clean up twice?” The Canadian grinned, continuing as he ran a hand into Yuri’s hair. “Or did you go for another round after I fell asleep? I can’t say it wouldn’t be the first time someone went on a ride while I was dreaming.” 

Did he know? It was a loaded question, and Yuri didn’t feel comfortable answering, much less acknowledging any of it. Had he really been asleep when he made it back to the apartment? “I can’t tell you all of my secrets, JJ,” he purred, running a finger over his chest. 

“Why? Is it restricted _prima_ knowledge or something?” JJ asked. “I wouldn’t be upset if you went solo or something.” 

“Shhh, Daddy,” Yuri whispered, looking up at JJ with soft eyes. “I’m still tired from earlier,” he placed a kiss on his lips. “Let’s just sleep a little longer, okay?” 

“Hmm,” JJ hummed against those soft lips. “Who knew you escorts had a soft spot? I didn’t know I was supposed to cuddle you after.” He chuckled as he pulled the boy closer against him. “This isn’t going to cost extra is it?” 

“Only if you don’t shut up and let me sleep,” Yuri rested his head against JJ’s bare chest.

. . . 

He couldn’t stop it. The nightclubs, the backs of an unregistered cab, bent over Otabek’s bike in a dark street. 

He couldn’t get enough. 

It was obvious – the marks on his chest. The collar he lost. The way his hair bunched up after hours spent on his back. And the others noticed, too. Victor booked more time with JJ, but it was difficult when the man was in meetings, going to interviews, face-timing with his fiancée waiting for him back in New York. And Yuri took every opportunity he could to meet his lover in between. 

“Yuri,” JJ mused, looking over at the boy as they ate dinner. “You haven’t said a word to me all night.” 

“Hmm?” he purred over a glass of wine, “Oh, I’m just a little distracted.” He forced a smile, looking down at the food. He hated Italian. “It’s been so long.”

“Already thinking of dessert?” The Canadian winked, raising a glass of red. 

“And you haven’t changed,” Yuri growled, taking his fork and spoon to his pasta.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” JJ grinned. “I thought you’d miss me after all this time.” 

“Oh, I did, Daddy,” Yuri lied, setting down his utensils. “More than you know.”

JJ gasped as a foot slid up his pant leg, then over the fabric, higher, beneath the tablecloth. “Oh,” he breathed quietly. “You weren’t kidding.” 

“C’mon, Daddy,” Yuri glanced over at the window. Otabek stood outside, lighting a cigarette, looking over at Yuri over the flame. “Let’s get out of here.” 

JJ called over the waiter and slid them a card as another assisted Yuri out of the chair and into his fur coat. When the boy looked over at the window, the DJ was gone. 

“You ready?” JJ asked placing his hand on the small of Yuri’s back. 

“Yeah,” he blinked and turned his attention back to his patron. “Let’s get out of here.” He pressed against the Armani suit, and watched the window as the left. 

“I think you’ll like the new decorations,” JJ grinned. “There’s a new couch that we can break in.” 

Where did he go? Why was he even there?

“Unless you want to go straight to the bedroom.” He paused, the door of the car opening. “Or the shower.” 

“Is that all you can think about?” Yuri asked, climbing into the car. Onto JJ’s lap. 

JJ cued the driver to raise the screen. “With you here,” he brushed their lips together. “What else would I be thinking about?” 

Yuri didn’t answer him, instead focusing on the sound of the motorcycle in the distance as his client slid his hands over the back of his dress, and a cabernet flavored tongue made its way into his mouth.

. . . 

He couldn’t find his phone, but he didn’t care. He was running late, and he didn’t want to keep him waiting. Yuri looked over his shoulder; Lilia was still asleep, cat napping on the sofa after their mid-day workout, and it was safe for him to sneak out. Sure, the video cameras might catch him on his way downstairs, but that wouldn’t keep him away. There wasn’t anything Victor could do or say this time to stop him. 

He was going to see Otabek. 

He rushed downstairs and hailed a cab. For all Victor knew, the expense was to cover his trip to see JJ. The club Otabek mentioned wasn’t far from the producer’s apartment, though it was supposedly a totally different scene. Otabek had asked him to wear something less distracting, so the escort settled for a large plaid shirt he stole from the DJ’s suitcase, some cutoff shorts, and a pair tennis shoes. It had been so long since he had worn flat shoes, his feet already ached, but his heartbeat raced as the car brought him closer to deliverance. Any minute now, he would meet him, and he wasn’t disappointed when he saw Otabek outside, sitting on his motorcycle and lighting a cigarette. 

“Here!” Yuri called, practically pushing the door open before the vehicle came to a stop. The cabbie stopped him to pay, and Yuri reluctantly halted to settle the bill. 

This wasn’t like him. None of it was. 

“You’re early,” Otabek stated frankly, exhaling into the cool spring air. 

Yuri slammed the door of the cab and made his way over to the man, looking into his eyes as he approached. “So what?” He asked, plucking the cigarette from between lips before taking a drag. As he exhaled, he continued, “I’m here, aren’t I?” It wasn’t like him to worry about being on time. Much less like him to be early.

Otabek took back his cigarette, inhaling one more before snuffing it into the concrete. “Are you ready?” His words echoed in the smoke.

The boy raised an eyebrow and looked toward the line outside the door. “I’ve never had to wait before,” glancing back at Otabek. “I’m usually in a booth by now.” 

“There’s no VIP here,” the DJ stood and made his way toward the bouncer. “You’re in or you’re out.” Yuri followed and watched as the guard acknowledged the dark horse approaching. They met each other’s gaze momentarily before the burly man let the pair inside, cutting the line.

It was dark, packed, and hot from the bodies moving to the music. It was definitely lower-class than the places he normally frequented, but he could see the appeal. Low lighting and good sound, with easy access to a bar lining the side of the building. There were a few booths lining the perimeter, but nothing special – black or dark vinyl (he couldn’t tell for sure with the strobe lighting) and cheap tables. But he turned his attention to Otabek’s hand as it took his own and watched him move them through the crowd to the dancefloor. 

And his heart raced as Otabek turned to face him and pulled them close together at the hips. 

Yuri’s lips parted and he inhaled shakily. Otabek’s eyes were on him. His fingers fighting the belt for loops on his shorts, and he rolled his head back in time with the music. “Beka,” he breathed. 

Otabek responded with his hips, guiding them like he did his tracks – to the music, entrancing and soulful, and Yuri relished the sensation. In this moment, he was Otabek’s, lost in a crowd, lost in a city, with no phone or chaperone.

And he shuddered when he turned his back to his lover, and held on to his hands. 

“Keep them there,” he demanded over his shoulder. 

As though Otabek could hear him over the drumming pulse, he gripped on to those slender hips harder, and Yuri slid back against that strong, hot body. 

. . . 

He didn’t even know what time it was when they left, but Otabek led Yuri out of the club and toward his bike. 

“Do you really have to go?” Yuri whined.

“It’s not a matter of if I have to go,” Otabek sat on the seat, facing Yuri. “You can’t break curfew.” 

“Then why did you bring me out here?” The Russian snapped. “I shouldn’t have even come, if that’s your argument.” 

Unfazed. “You didn’t have to accept my invitation.” He reached for the cigarettes again. “After all,” Opening the pack, “I’m not an official client.” 

Yuri hated it when he brought this up. It was true, but it stung. And it felt like Otabek was doing it on purpose. “Are you trying to insult me?” 

“No,” He answered, reaching for a stick, “I’m just telling you the truth.” 

“Stop it,” another demand as he made his way closer, pushing the box away. “Or I’ll ditch you like all the other assholes.” 

“Because I tell you the truth?” Otabek laughed. “Surely someone has told you this before.” He returned the cigarettes to his pocket for now. 

Yuri pouted, a small flush of color rushing to his face. “You make me sound like a little kid.” 

“Aren’t you, though?” the man smiled, reaching up for Yuri’s face, teasing him. 

The Russian’s eyes widened, and he slapped his hand away. “Beka!” he growled. “I’m 19!”

“Like I said,” Otabek touched his face anyway and urged him closer. “You’re just a kitten.” 

And Yuri gave in to his new favorite word, and moaned as their mouths came together. He gripped at the Kazakh’s leather jacket and pressed against him. He could still smell the tobacco and sandalwood over the sweat from the club, and the escort bit his way into Otabek’s mouth. The DJ latched his fingers into that blonde hair, unable to stop it as Yuri leaned against him, nearly straddling him as they kissed. 

Finally, the guard barked from the door, “Take it inside, fags!” 

Yuri shot up and opened his mouth to retaliate, but Otabek covered it with his hand, handing Yuri a helmet. “Get on.” He commanded as he straddled the bike. 

He begrudgingly turned his attention back to his lover. “A helmet?” He climbed on to the back of the bike. “Where’s yours?” 

“Don’t need it.” He replied. “You should wear it. You won’t be seen.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Fine,” Otabek relented, taking the helmet and strapping it on. “Don’t bitch about your hair later.” 

“I won’t.” Yuri grinned, hugging onto Otabek as the man revved the engine. 

“Don’t let go.” It was his last warning before they shot onto the street, into the middle of Saint Petersburg traffic. The world was a blur of cold air and bright color, and Yuri laughed as they made their way across town. 

And to his surprise, Otabek didn’t take him home. Instead, he took him to another hotel. A different one than they had stayed at before, and it was hard to contain himself as they made their way upstairs. It was even more difficult when Otabek brushed his windblown hair out of his face in the elevator. Impossible when they were outside of his room, helmet in hand, and mouths tied together with tongue. And Yuri had never been so happy in his life as he was when that door opened, and Otabek kicked it shut, stripping both of them as they made their way to the small sofa in the corner.

“Beka,” Yuri panted, fighting Otabek for power. He shivered in the cold air of the hotel room.

“What is it, Yura?” Off came the collar – Otabek was always taking it off – and soon came the lips.

He moaned as he answered, gripping the edge of the sofa as he made his way down, Otabek climbing on top of him, urging him back toward the cushions. “I want to blow you.” 

Otabek stopped and looked up at Yuri, meeting that green gaze. 

“Let me.” 

“I’m not going to stop you.” He sat down and watched as Yuri climbed over him, giving the boy a playful spank as he made his way onto the floor, between his legs. 

Otabek had never let him do this before. Any time he tried, the man eased him away, pulled him up and back beneath him. Or he took Yuri in his mouth, instead. It hadn’t been a problem until now – Yuri wanted to taste him. Know what it felt like with that cock against his tongue. 

And he touched it gingerly, as if he was scared of breaking something so sacred. He had never taken the time to appreciate anyone’s penis, but now, all he wanted to do was worship this. To worship Otabek, and he met his gaze as he ran his tongue over the tip, and the DJ shuddered. 

“Beka,” Yuri whispered against the head, closing his eyes as he traced the length of the shaft with his lips. The Kazakh was watching through half-lidded eyes as Yuri continued the motion. “Is this how you feel,” a quick taste with the tongue again. “When you do me?” He didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead, he placed kisses along the underside of that thick, long arousal, and Otabek groaned when the boy took him into his mouth. 

“Yura.” His breathing shook, and his voice was heavy with desire.

It was delicious seeing him like this, unfiltered and aroused. The gel in his hair had given way at the club, but now it was curly and weighted, falling toward his face, clinging to his forehead as he closed his eyes, and Yuri sucked. Otabek was louder when he opened them again and looked into that dark, heated brown. Soon, Otabek’s hand was locked into a tight grip on Yuri’s hair as the boy worked his head forward and back. 

“Fuck! Yura.” He shuddered. 

Yuri glanced upward, taking it in as Otabek tilted his head back. He hummed into his sucks and motions, moving faster as he applied just enough pressure with his tongue on each upward suck. 

And Otabek came hard, pulling onto Yuri’s hair as he thrusted upward with his orgasm, gritting his teeth as he came into that hot, sweet mouth. 

It was so deep, it hit him in the back of the throat, and Yuri slowly disengaged before swallowing thickly. It was just as addictive as he had hoped, and he looked up at his partner through his eyelashes. “Beka,” he climbed up the man’s body slowly, straddling his lap. “Keep it up,” he demanded, turning his face back toward his own. “It’s my turn.” 

Otabek smirked and looked into Yuri’s eyes. “Who said I was done, Kitten?” 

“Hmm,” Yuri grinned. Already, that thick heat was pressing against his backside, ready to go again. “Impressive.” 

“You talk like this is the first time you’ve seen it.” He was biting him now, marking up his neck – Lilia would be pissed. 

“Beka,” the Russian purred, grinding back against his dick. “Shut up.” 

“Do it yourself.” He met Yuri’s eyes again. “Ride me.” 

And Yuri obeyed, taking that heavy cock in his hands before pressing it against his entry, and he slid onto it until he could move no further – Otabek was fully sheathed inside him, and he shivered with the friction. 

“Already?” Otabek chuckled, resting his hands on Yuri’s waist. 

“No,” Yuri answered, looking into his eyes as he moved, up and down, smooth and steady over that thick heat. “God no.” 

“Then show me how you like it,” he was coaxing him now, glancing down at the space disappearing and reappearing at their waists. 

It was working – Yuri increased his speed and the force at which he met Otabek’s hips, and the DJ met his beat in perfect up-beat timing. “Oh, god,” the kitten cried, bouncing on his hips now as they continued. 

“Religious?” 

Yuri hissed, rolling his head back. It felt so good, and it was so incredibly rough. Otabek’s nails were digging into his skin – he could feel the bruises forming already on his hips, and he moaned loudly in response. 

The Kazakh smiled and watched as Yuri grew more aroused. Flushed. Panting. Hair falling into his face, over his shoulder, flipping to the side. The boy could hardly contain himself, and Otabek could see the excitement and pleasure in each fleck of green in those made-up eyes. 

“Beka,” Yuri whimpered. “Oh, Beka . . .” He was whining now, his pitch heightening. 

“Come.” 

So he did. And he winced as Otabek scratched into their simultaneous release. The room was hotter now, and he struggled to catch his breath as his hips shuddered to a close. “I can’t move,” he managed, collapsing against the older man. 

Otabek closed his eyes and smiled softly as he ran his hand through that golden hair. “Then stay.” 

“Okay,” Yuri breathed against that tattooed chest. “Just for a little bit.” 

‘Shh, Kitten,” Otabek responded. “It’ll be daylight soon.” He placed a soft kiss on top of the wild mess of gold. “Rest.”

Yuri didn’t want to think about it – it didn’t matter if Lilia noticed he was gone by now. It was too late to do anything about this. 

About any of it. 

. . . 

It had been worth it. The ass-chewing, the chaperoned visits to the gym, to the club, Christophe watching from across the bar while Yuri hung on JJ’s arm. It was worth it for the moments he had stolen. Meeting Otabek in the bathroom of a dingy nightclub while JJ negotiated contracts with his agent. Lifted against a wall with a dick up his skirt. 

Even the memory got him excited, and he tried to shake it off. But it was difficult here, sitting next to JJ, while Otabek sat in front of him, cigarette in hand. 

“I’ll get Leo to send over the first draft to you. It should arrive by the end of the week.” He made it a point to get his trophy’s attention, gripping onto his exposed thigh while he spoke. “Do you have any other questions? It’s not every day I go around importing talent from Kazakhstan – I need to make sure you understand how all of this works.” 

Otabek ignored the power play – it was something he had heard his entire life. “No. I’ll wait to read the contract, and get back to you.” 

“Good.” JJ looked over at Yuri, sliding his hand a bit higher. “Let’s get going, babe,” he grinned. “It’ll be time for dinner soon, and I thought about taking you somewhere new.” 

It took the blonde a moment to catch his cue, but he could feel Christophe’s eyes on him from across the room. Victor was really going out of his way to make sure he didn’t get away this time. “Alright, Daddy.” Beka’s jaw tensed at that. “Let’s get going.” He closed his eyes and stood, glad that JJ’s hand slid away from him, at least briefly. 

The man slung his arm around his shoulder as they neared the door. “Don’t be a stranger, Beka,” JJ smirked over his shoulder. Yuri nearly tripped, and JJ stopped before he shut the door. “Good luck at your show tonight.” 

Christophe made his way over to Otabek after the door closed, eyebrow raised. “What was that about?” He lifted the tray of tea, pausing for an answer.

Otabek stared at the door before taking the cigarette to the ashtray. “Nothing.” He lied. “He probably thinks it’s cute to give me a pet name.” 

The Swiss knew better, and the DJ knew it. “He won’t hesitate to get rid of you, you know?” 

Otabek stood and made his way to the door, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of the chair. “I know.” 

“And we won’t be able to stop the New York mob.” 

Meanwhile, Yuri sat, pissy in the car as it drove them around downtown. “What the hell was that?” 

“What?” JJ asked, pouring some scotch into a glass. He offered it to the Russian, but he refused. So he took it instead, sipping on it. 

He was blowing his cover. “Grabbing my leg like that,” Yuri stared out the window, avoiding those blue eyes. “You treat me like I’m meat.” 

“Isn’t that what you are?” It was the truth, a simple question. And a perfectly delivered insult. “I’m basically paying you to be my plaything while I’m here.” 

“Won’t you be leaving soon?” He turned back toward JJ. “It sounds like the contract is almost done. Once you’ve gotten him signed, it’s over, right?” 

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Princess?” 

That grin made him nauseous. “If I were?”

“Oh, Yura,” JJ laughed, “You play so hard to get. You know you’ll miss me when I’m gone.” 

His eyes widened. Only one person called him that. Only _one_ person was _allowed_ to call him that. “What did you just call me?” 

“Oh, you didn’t know?” he grinned. “It’s what Beka calls you, right?” Yuri didn’t understand – and then it was obvious as JJ pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Or was that a secret I wasn’t supposed to know about?” 

“My phone!” He tried to conceal his rage and feign surprise, laughing. “You’ve had it all this time? I’ve been looking all over for it!” 

“You might be able to fool me in bed,” the Producer growled, shoving the phone back into his pocket, “but you’re not that good of an actor. It won’t fool me now.” Another swig of the Scotch and a wince. “How long have you been fucking him for free?” He looked over at Yuri. “Has this been happening since you first met him at the club?”

Yuri couldn’t speak. When did JJ find his phone? How did he even see the messages – they had been hard to get to. No saved passwords – no obvious names. A complex key-code. He never looked at it when they were together on their dates.

“Are you going to answer me?” he scoffed. “I don’t like to wait.”

“What does it matter?” Yuri hissed, “You’ve got my attention now.” 

“Do I?” He was angry now, opening the bottle of Scotch again. 

“I’m here, aren’t I? Wouldn’t I have stayed at Victor’s if I wanted to fuck a DJ? Why would I have come with you?!”

“Really?” JJ laughed. “You’re a professional whore. If I turn my back for one second, you’ll be sucking him off in an alley or ass-up in a booth.” 

It was degrading – it was horrible, and Yuri shook with anger. “How dare you –“

“Prove me wrong.” It was matter-of-fact, the voice he used in business. “Stay away from Otabek Altin.” 

“Why should I?! It’s not like you’re a joy to be around. At least he’s-“

“What?” Icy. Sharp. “He’s what?” The blue in his eyes was electric.

Yuri swallowed thickly. There wasn’t an answer. What did he think about Otabek? When he thought of him, he saw soft smiles when he climbed off of his lap while wearing his T-shirt from the night before. Tattooed fingers brushing bangs away from his eyes. Determination in the way he spun the tables, the way he tuned a base when planning a track. 

God – what was this? 

“We’re here.” JJ interrupted, stepping out of the car when the driver opened the door. “Don’t forget who fucking owns you.” 

The door slammed, and Yuri kicked the glass of Scotch off the table. 

. . . 

A new phone came with daily message checks. He only used it for business, and when he was on business, he was on JJ’s lap. Ass-up in a booth or sucking his cock on the way to the club for another interview. Another meeting. Another contract signing with Otabek Altin. 

And it pained Yuri when they did meet. He was draped over JJ’s lap, the man marking up his jawline and biting on his ear, a hand up his skirt as Otabek walked up. Nothing had changed in his eyes. He stood, as stoic as ever, and accepted the envelope a guard handed him in the Producer’s stead. 

“Be careful with that.” JJ warned. “That’s the last chance you’ll get to sign your life away. Once I get that in ink – you’ll be mine.” 

Otabek walked away without saying anything, and Yuri could see the tension in his shoulders through the leather coat. 

“Where were we?” JJ mused, brushing his lips over Yuri’s ear. “I think I may need to send the guards to the door, don’t you?” 

The music was pulsing outside, and Yuri rolled his eyes. “Sure – if that’s what you want.” 

“Why are you mad, Kitten?” He ran a hand over his cheek, turning him to face him. “Don’t you want it?” 

He glared at JJ. “Yes, Daddy.” 

“That’s better.” 

. . . 

“Yuri,” Lilia spoke as she brushed egg whites and honey into his hair, a ritual that happened almost weekly. “Don’t you see how beautiful you look without those hickeys on your neck?” 

The collar only came off during the ritual, showers, and with Otabek. He had liked the marks – the way his skin turned from pink to purple to light green before fading away. He ran a hand up his neck, missing the bruises. “Yeah.” 

“It’s safer this way,” Lilia continued, tugging hard at the sections in Yuri’s hair as she continued to mask it. “For you and your clients. You never know where the free ones have been.” She muttered as she continued. “You’re lucky your tests have come back clean so far.”

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Yuri glanced toward his phone. JJ stopped taking him to the shows. To the meetings. Otabek could be signed by now, and he would never know it. He was grounded, stuck in this room in Victor’s house with Lilia – like mother and son. 

“Can we go out and do something tomorrow?” He asked. “Something other than the gym?” 

The mentor looked back toward Yuri’s hair, carefully wrapping it in cellophane. “You know tomorrow will be core training.” 

That was a ‘no’, and Yuri sighed, closing his eyes. “Okay.” 

If she wouldn’t take him out of the routine – he would have to find a way out. 

Or a way to get Otabek in.

So he did. 

Lilia ran to the dry cleaners. She didn’t trust the butler. At least, that was her excuse. But Yuri knew better – the bakery was next door, and she would stop for a pastry and coffee before making her way back. A cheat day. 

“Yuri,” she called from the door. “I’ll be back in less than an hour. The guards have been informed to keep you here. I expect you to be doing calisthenics when I get back.” 

There was a heavy thud and a click of the lock, and Yuri raced to his closet. He had managed to bribe Georgi, a member of the help, to get him a track phone, and all it took was letting him play with his hair and makeup after Lilia went to sleep. Creepy, but it got him one step closer.

Otabek was on his way over, under the ruse of delivering the signed contract to Christoph. Christophe would vet it when it arrived, taking time to mull it over before inviting JJ over for the final signature. No one would think that the DJ would know where to find Yuri in the old mansion. No one would think that he would go looking for him. The guards only knew Yuri was supposed to stay inside the house. They would never think to make sure no one got in to his room.

And Yuri’s heart raced, hoping this would actually work. _God, please work._

He jumped at the knock on his door. “Who is it?” he asked. 

“Yura.” 

It was quiet through the wood, but he knew. And he couldn’t unlock it fast enough. It swung open, and their mouths crashed together. Otabek still smelled like sandalwood and smoke. 

“Beka,” Yuri panted, reaching behind him to lock the door. “We’ve only got an hour.” 

“I know.” Otabek answered, lifting Yuri by the ass. “But we won’t need that long.” 

He could taste the cigarettes as they kissed, and he gripped onto the DJ with his thighs. “I’ve missed you.” He admitted as they made their way to the bed, running his hands through that dark hair. His back hit the mattress, and he moaned quietly as Otabek crawled over him. “Have you signed it?” 

“No,” he answered reaching for the belt at Yuri’s waist. “It was shit. We’re redoing it.” 

Yuri whined, “You’re going to kill me.” 

Otabek chuckled and bit at Yuri’s jawline. “That’s the last thing I want to do now.” 

The Russian tugged at Otabek’s shirt, following the direction with his hands as the Kazakh pulled it away from his body. “Just sign it already.” 

“Are you that horny?” Their mouths met again. 

God, he tasted good. “Yes,” he answered, “Yes.” He looked into his eyes, “I want you.” 

Otabek answered by pulling off Yuri’s shorts and removing his jeans. They were undressed, already hard, dripping with pre-cum and heat. And he spread Yuri’s legs. “I won’t be able to stop myself.” 

“That’s fine,” Yuri moaned, preparing himself for the cock he missed so badly. “Just put it in.” 

Otabek searched that green. “You might not be able to walk after. Lilia will get suspicious.” 

“I’ll tell her I was practicing double penetration,” Yuri growled, wiggling against that head. “Just stick it in.” 

“You’ll have to tell me about that later,” the DJ smirked, pressing in slowly with a groan. “But now,” He had him nearly bent over, and he shuddered at that familiar, tight heat. “Keep quiet.” 

It was difficult – almost painful, it had been so long. And Yuri fought with the bedding. Tugging at the sheets as Otabek moved in and out of him. It was hard to keep quiet, but it helped when their mouths and tongues met, and he got to dig his nails into the skin on Otabek’s back. 

The bed creaked in rhythm with Otabek’s thrusts, and soon it was fast and lacked any sort of beat other than nearing the edge. Yuri got louder and Otabek buried his head in the curve of the blonde’s neck. The springs rattled when they came, and Yuri closed his eyes. 

Otabek looked toward the clock. “Yuri,” He sat up and placed kisses along one of the boy’s knees as he adjusted their position. “That wasn’t even ten minutes.” 

“Again,” He demanded. “Fuck me again.” 

And this time Otabek obeyed, driving into that slender body again and again.

And it was worth it when Lilia scolded him for napping instead of exercising, for chastising him about the cigarettes in the ashtray, especially when he remembered why he couldn’t move his legs.


	4. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short in which JJ pisses off his favorite escort, and Yuri fights back with Vodka. 
> 
> And Otabek.
> 
> _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Best Bitch. 
> 
> I've been in a bit of a funk, and you have never failed to encourage me to be my fiercest self, to dance to the music like I don't have bones, and to dive back into my fanfic because smut needed to be written. 
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> _ _ _

It was like this every time. 

Every. Damn. Time. 

The beat echoed in the background, colors and voices swirling with the movement of the crowd, but Yuri pushed through, letting the rhythm carry him around the dance floor. JJ was late, which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. Any less inconsiderate. So the Russian fought back the only way he knew how: Another drink, another grind, another moan in the arms of a stranger. 

And when it called for it, a bottle. 

It was like a curtain call, a cue for the Canadian producer. At the last shot, without fail, he’d arrive, snatching Yuri by an arm in the middle of dance-floor ecstasy, and pull him aside. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“There you are,” the boy would reply with a grin. Vodka on his breath. A glass empty in his hand.

“I told you to wait for me.” 

“I did. And you didn’t come, so Ivan was helping me out.” He looked over his shoulder and winked. Ivan pumped his fist and kept dancing, turning his attention to a red-headed girl in the crowd, Mila. Yuri knew her – she was like him, just another escort. But she was free. Free from this imbecile and his selfish antics. 

“Waiting for me means waiting inside the booth, Yuri, and you know it.” 

Yuri rolled his eyes, but JJ pulled him closer. Grabbing his chin, forcing them together. Almost. Just close enough to whisper against his lips, “You’re lucky it wasn’t . . .” 

“Who, Beka?” Yuri giggled. The look on JJ’s face was priceless. Pissed. Shocked. Mortified that the whore would utter the name of their lover. But by now, it was anything but secret. 

“Yuri. You know better than to say that name around me.” 

“What are you going to do? Hit me?” Yuri pulled away, brushing his hands through his hair. “You know even Victor doesn’t allow that.” 

“I swear, you little cunt,” JJ growled and pushed his way past the blonde, “I don’t know why I pay for you.” He continued, making his way to the bar for a stiff drink. “You think an expensive whore would behave better.”

Yuri smirked, stumbling for a moment to catch himself. Somewhere in that conversation, he lost his glass, and it crunched beneath his feet as he made his way back. Deeper into the dancefloor where he welcomed a stranger’s hand on his thigh. Another on his hip. A caress on his neck. He closed his eyes and writhed through the riffs, the bass drops, and the snare claps until he felt a stroke against his cheek. Hot, rough, and smelling like smoke. 

He knew those cigarettes.

He opened his eyes and looked up, spotting the person he wasn’t counting on arriving. The one person that could make him forget everything else. 

“Beka.” 

“Yuri,” Otabek breathed, pulling the boy closer, supporting his alcohol-heavy legs. “You know better than to drink while he’s out.” He nodded in the direction of the bar. 

Yuri glanced over his shoulder and hissed. JJ was there with a flock of women in designer gowns, sipping on cheap cosmopolitans. “Looks like he’s found some other women to occupy his time.” Back at Otabek. He was easy to see in the slow-fast swirl of lights, still against the sound. “He won’t miss me that much.” After a moment, he pushed against the taller man, pressing against him. “Besides,” his lips parted. “I’d much rather spend the night with you.”

Otabek knew better than to fall into the trap of Yuri’s eyes, half-closed, staring intently to his own. But it was too much with his toned body against his, the skirt tight against his ass, and those lips inches from his own. So he leaned in and captured them, letting the boy melt against him in time to the music. 

One song blended into another, the two taking a moment to breathe in, claw, or bite one another as they slowly moved toward the back. Hips always connected, inseparable even in the transitions. Grinding, sliding, groaning their way further into the dark. 

“Beka,” Yuri gasped against a wall. His voice shuddering beneath the murmur of an EDM haze. 

“What is it, Yuri?” Otabek purred against his jawline. 

“The car.” It was too risky for a booth.

“The car?” Otabek looked up, pulling away. Making sure Yuri was actually sober. 

Not quite sober, but more sue than before. “The limo. It’s out back.” 

“JJ’s limo?” 

“Yes.” 

Otabek straightened up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Yuri, his guards aren’t going to let me fuck you in the car while he’s in here.” 

“But there’s nowhere else,” the Russian whined in response, taking one of Otabek’s hands and running his fingertips against his lips. 

“Yuri, you’ll have to wait.” A muscle in his jaw tightened. Relaxing at another brush of those soft lips. “Even you know that idea is suicide.”

“You started it.” He slid his hand over the front of Otabek’s jeans.

Otabek sighed, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes. “Yura.” He took that hand, stopping it from moving any further downward. “You’ll have to wait.” 

Rejection? “Fine. I’ll find someone else.” Yuri slid away, making his way toward the crowd. Tired of being ignored. Tired of waiting. Frustrated that Otabek was playing the same damn inconsiderate game that JJ was. 

But Otabek caught his hand tightly in his own and pulled him back. 

“Yura.” He said firmly, looking into those green eyes. “We’re not going to fuck in his limo.” 

“Then where are we going to fuck, Daddy?” 

. . . 

He shouldn’t have asked. It would have made him change his mind immediately. This was even more risky than the limo. This was almost a taboo. 

And Yuri moaned as he scratched down Otabek’s back and he bit into his nape in return. 

He would take it all back. Nothing could have brought him here before. Nothing. 

But Beka was like no other man, not another nameless John between his legs. He was a dark horse, steadfast and determined, driving into him like every moment was their last. The wood beneath them creaked with each thrust. And Yuri felt lightheaded. 

Otabek knew this would turn him on. 

No one was allowed to fuck here, unless their name was Victor Nikiforov. But Otabek’s plan was brilliant. Victor was vain, self-assured that no one would enter his office while he and Yuuri made a deal with the Yakuza in Osaka. Chris would most likely be back in Switzerland, spending the afternoon with his long-term partner, and Lilia, well, she was in bed getting her “beauty rest” this hour. The office was unguarded. 

He should really fucking know better. 

JJ had believed him when he said he was going home. That a cab had come to pick him up. Yuri was drunk, after all, and it wasn’t the first time he had walked out on the Canadian producer. Needed a ride after waiting three hours for his sorry ass; it was happening more and more lately. 

But now he was here. Sliding and sticking to the desk as Otabek pumped in and out of his body. He could hear the paper crumpling and ripping beneath them. Feel the sweat sliding down from Otabek’s body to his. 

“If I get a papercut,” Yuri gasped, arching his back, “I’m going to kill you.” He threaded his fingers into Otabek’s hair and pulled. 

“No you won’t,” Otabek replied, lifting the boy, holding them together. 

“No!” Yuri whined, not ready for the pleasure to stop. “Beka, what are you –“ 

And then he stopped. Realizing where Otabek was walking, where he was about to make them land. 

Victor’s chair squeaked, and Yuri moaned as Otabek pumped upward once. “You should drive.” He smirked. 

“I’m drunk,” Yuri purred, ignoring his own words, moving his hips slowly. Lifting them up before easing his way down. “I can’t drive.”

The Kazakh chuckled and slapped a hand to Yuri’s backside, gripping an ass cheek in one hand before repeating the motion with the other. “Listen to Daddy.” 

That gaze. Yuri threw his head back and closed his eyes. He couldn’t last even if he wanted to. Not here. Not with Otabek’s hands on him, scratching into his skin, or the sound of the chair squeaking beneath them as he sped up. He could feel Otabek swelling inside of him, and it wouldn’t be long. Already, he was so tight. 

“Beka,” He whimpered, the speed at his hips increasing. 

“Yes, Yuri?” 

“I’m coming.” He cried, riding the waves of his orgasm. “I’m coming!” 

Otabek groaned and leaned his head back as he came; Yuri wasn’t like most – tighter when he was drunk, which was hard for even him to believe and he’d been in that ass more times than he could count. And even sober, it was suffocating. 

But he could never get enough. 

Yuri clutched on to Otabek’s shoulders, panting to catch his breath. And he felt warm lips press against his ear.

“Where to next?”

The piston was still beating, pulsing inside of him. “Beka,” he couldn’t believe how girly he sounded. Out of breath. _Giggling_. “You’re a beast.” 

Just desire. “Get on your knees.” 

Yuri groaned as he worked his way off of Otabek, and stood, the man leading him to the designer rug on the floor. Yuri turned, presenting himself on his knees, ass-up, and Otabek mounted him, slamming their hips together without hesitation. 

Little did they know an embarrassed Yuuri was watching some time zones away, wondering how to tell Victor about what happened without ruining breakfast.


End file.
